


Ashen Scales, Scarlet Flowers

by Yuzuki_Chiruka



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crimson Flower, Dragon!Byleth, F/F, F/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:14:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23299900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yuzuki_Chiruka/pseuds/Yuzuki_Chiruka
Summary: Byleth was always different, with no visible emotions, no hesitation for her first kill at the age of fourteen.  Her father always knew that Rhea did something to her, but never what or why. It wasn't until he saw the ashes of a town burnt to the ground, men slaughter by claws instead of weapons, and his daughter covered in scales, stained by blood mixed with soot that he was scared of his daughter, especially when her response to his unasked question was as unemotional as ever and still brought the Blade Breaker to tears."They hurt you, dad."(INDEFINTE HIATUS)
Relationships: Edelgard von Hresvelg/My Unit | Byleth, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added
Comments: 15
Kudos: 78





	1. Prologue I

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, Yuzuki, here with a quick warning. My original plan was to write this AU after I complete every route of Three House, but alas, here we are. So please understand when I stop updating after the prologue is done, I'm halfway through my AM run, and I did VW, so I'm halfway there. Of course, I can probably do the intro to the game itself, but that's it. This isn't even my primary fic, so please be patient. Thank you for reading in advance, and please let me know what you think in the comments, till next time.

Blank eyes watched observed her new opponent as she heard her father, mounted on his steed, just run through a bandit with his lance. Byleth blocked the heavy axe of the brigand. Keeping her sword where the wood met blade, the teenage mercenary deflected the heavy weapon into the ground. The bandit, now disarmed, went into a grappler’s stance as Byleth used a reverse grip on her blade. The bandit charged her out of rage and fear as a chill went down Byleth’s spine. Leaning forward, Byleth dodged a coming arrow that burrowed itself into her foe’s thigh. Byleth used this to her advantage and kicked the thief in the new wound, causing the man to scream as he fell,  _ Must’ve been barbed. _ The mercenary thought simply as plunged the blade in between the ribs of the bandit, the anger and rage turned to fear as life fled from the man’s lips.

Byleth observed the melee, her father’s mercenaries were already pushing back the bandits, Count Fraldarius’ reinforcements should be here shortly. Byleth shook the distractions out of her head as another bandit ran at her with a lance. After a few exchanges, Byleth realized that this thief was trying to keep her here. She tried everything she learned from her father about fighting lance users, finally getting in close enough for her to cut the man down when she heard something scream in pain. A horse. 

Byleth turned to see Jeralt’s horse go down, foaming at the mouth. Her father stood up, surrounded by a few bandits. Byleth ran over to her father, flames started to consume her chest as she rushed for her father. She was halfway to him as Jeralt fought the bandits defensively. His leg was broken from the fall, as his footwork was shoddy at best. Byleth tried to move faster as a fighter got in her way, blocking her blade with iron gauntlets. Byleth dodged and deflected the wild punches of the thief, knocking the last hit away as she swirled around the fighter like a dancer. Byleth’s sword drew a red line across the fighter’s neck as she continued her mad rush toward Jeralt. 

Byleth watched as her father laid wounded on the ground next to his dead steed. Most of his lieutenants were held back by at least two bandits each.  _ Their goal was never money, _ Byleth realized as one of the bandits raised their spear to end Jeralt’s life. Byleth deftly drew on of her daggers from the holster on her thigh, throwing it into the thief’s arm. She rushed in just after her knife hit the first bandit and quickly dispatched the one next to him with a dagger to the neck. The remaining bandits had a bow upon his back and a Venin edge in his hands. 

“Ah, I was hoping to meet you in combat, young mercenary.” The man laughed as Byleth knew he was no bandit. The bloodlust coming from him was overpowering. “I have yet to meet one who could dodge my arrows, please don’t disappoint me.” The assassin charged Byleth, the poison blade held out to his side, Brigid-style. Another remnant from the war. Byleth blocked the first strike and dodged the second, moving in for her own overhead slash. The man deflected her blade to the side as she blocked his with her gauntlet, the armor piece caved in slightly. The man laughed as he disengaged the young mercenary, they gave a quick glance around, the count’s knights have finally arrived, and the bandits had started to retreat, many of them scattering to the forests. Byleth didn’t care as much, the flames were all-consuming. She charged her foe, copying his form. 

The man was slow to block, allowing Byleth to cut through the assassin’s hood, his skin color was light chocolate and was marked with scars. The man drew out a piece of paper and gave Byleth a sickening grin. 

“Till next time, young mercenary.” He tore the paper in half, and a purple light warped him away. Byleth growled in anger, causing some of her father’s men to glance at her in shock. The teen rushed toward her father, already being taken care of by one of the count’s mages. He was unconscious, but the mage said he would be better by the end of the month. She walked toward the assassin’s hood, making a note of the silver leaf ornament, the only decoration that marked the man’s non-descript leather armor.

\----A.S.S.F----

“Are you sure?” She heard Nike say. The woman was her father’s second in command, usually a backline fighter. A woman of reason and archery. She had to stay behind during the fight to coordinate the knights with the mercenary group. 

“Yes.” 

“Byleth, this isn’t the same as a scouting mission.” Byleth met the woman’s eyes, seeing the worry and concern for her safety.

“It’s going to be fine.” 

“Byleth, this is the first time I’ve seen you emotional about something,” Byleth turned to her, she knew her face was as blank as ever. Maybe Nike can feel the flames that continue burning in her non-beating heart, perhaps she knew what they were. “I’m just worried that it’s for the wrong thing.”

“Wrong thing?” Byleth said tonelessly. Nike’s eyes widened slightly but nodded her head. “I’m looking for the man who nearly killed my father, is that really the wrong thing?”

“I, I’m just worried about what might happen once you find him. Or them.” Byleth nodded as she remembered Count Fraldairus’ words once he saw the ornament.

_ “Yes, I recognize this symbol.” The count nodded, “An assassin guild in the mountains of on the kingdom’s border with Leicester. We could never actually raid their base due to differing opinions among our nobility.” There was a pause as the man sighed, grief was evident among the man’s face. “The Tragedy just made these sentiments worse, but if you and yours can find their location, I’d be more than happy to help rid my kingdom of these varmints.” _

“I won’t do anything rash; I’ll write to you on my way to Galatea,” Byleth said as she placed her bag upon her back. The mixed leather armor covers her body, the only pieces of plate armor were her gauntlets, shin guards, and her small chest plates, all silver. She double-checked her bow’s string and her blades edge before leaving the tent, Nike just behind her. 

“Byleth, please don’t let rage blur your vision.”

_ I make no promises.  _ Byleth moved forward in silence, never noticing the small patch of grey scales just above her non-beating heart. 


	2. Prologue II

Byleth’s stomach growled as she walked into the pub, just on the border of Count Galatea’s land. The boisterous laughter she heard from outside the doors continued as a few men ranted and joked about their days and wives. The young mercenary just sat at the bar and ordered a simple meal and a mug of ale. The barkeep questioned her age as he poured the cup, she simply replied that if she was old enough to take a life, she was old enough for a simple mug of poor man’s ale. It wouldn’t quench the flames consuming her slowly, but it’d ease the three days of lonely travel. The barmaid was more than happy to serve her as Byleth listened for news from the drunkards. Just as her dad taught her. 

One of the louder men just finished his mug and went on a rant on how the daughter of the count is still grieving for her fiancée, “It’s all those damn Duscars fault men like us can no longer see her. Man, she had a stubborn streak a mile wide that could keep up with all three of the noble brats. It makes you wonder how stubborn she’d be in bed.” 

“Shut your mouth, idiot!” another man’s reprimand interrupted the first. “If one of the knights heard you, your head will go up with all of the king slayers!” 

Byleth kept the news in her head as she finished her mug. The tragedy was six moons ago, and yet all the Kingdom could talk about was the slaughter of innocents like it was a noble goal. The mercenary knew her purpose was similar, but she’d never take an innocent’s life, even on her warpath. 

_ Yes…child, temper the flames within… _

__ \----A.S.S.F----

Byleth found the Galatea Estate less prosperous than Fraldarius land. She watched as few Pegasus knights went on skywatch on the land’s border. Impressive as it was, the odd scratching of her leather on skin hurried her on her path. She showed the guards the letter from her current employer. She swiftly found herself in a utilitarian waiting room as an aged noble walked in. Byleth rose to give a proper greeting, but he waved it away. 

“Relax, mercenary. No need for manners in a minor estate such as mine.” The man smiled kindly, “Allow me to introduce myself, I am Count Ingvar Galatea. I read Rodrigue’s letter, and I am more than happy to offer my pegasi for your search. But I’d like to ask a favor as minor as my house.” 

“Of course, A mercenary’s way is one of exchanges, blood, and blade for gold,” Byleth responded with a quirk of her eyebrow, a distant giggle rang through the room. Ingvar made no physical or vocal response to it. “What is my charge for your knights’ help.” 

“Nothing but peace of mind, but I’d like to ask you some personal inquiries to see how suitable you are. How old were you when you took your first life? What were the circumstances.” 

The question gave Byleth pause, she didn’t know the year of her birth, Just a moon and a day. She observed the nobleman before her, a small hope in his eyes made her realize that this is important to him. “I do not know, my father never told me the year I was born, just that it was the sixteenth of the Red Wolf Moon. I do know I took my first life in the Imperial Year 1173. My father’s band was on a tour of the Locket, on Imperial Contract when Almyran raiders breached the wall. One came upon our tent, I ambushed him, and he took his last breath with a dagger in his back.” Ingvar was silent for a moment as he observed the stoic mercenary. 

“What about your first loss?” 

“It was during that tour; the band has a usual base in Imperial territory. A small village that gives us shelter as we give it protection. Bandits took advantage of our absence. I came back with good news that my father had decided that I deserved to start working among the mercenaries in combat, but all I saw was the grief of my closest friend’s family at a grave.” Byleth took a breath and exhaled slowly as the flames came back in full force.  _ No, wonder this attack on dad felt familiar. _ “I was glad that my first mission was bandit hunting.” 

“Thank you for your tale, and I’m sorry for bringing up such memories.” The man’s aura changed from one of nobility to one of fatherhood. “My daughter, Ingrid, is taking the loss of her fiancé harshly. I’d like for you to talk to her, get her started on healing, as one so closely linked to such things.”

“I doubt I’m qualified for such a deed,” Byleth started, but the look in Ingvar’s eyes made her want to try. “But I’ll see what I can do.” 

“Thank you, young mercenary. For now, I’ll have you set up in a guest room, my butler shall escort you, and the maids shall have a warm bath at the ready for when you desire it. Rest for the night, you’ll meet Ingrid tomorrow.” 

“And I, thank you for the hospitality and aid, Count Galatea.”

\----A.S.S.F---

Byleth set her leather bag and weapons within reach of the poster bed. She asked a butler for help taking off the plate armor, he called for one of the pegasus knights that were resting after watch. It was a pleasant conversation comparing knight training to a mercenary’s trial by combat. The strange feeling, once she was alone, came back in full force, like she was being watched. The scratching that spread from her chest forced the thought from her mind as she quickly stripped herself of her remaining armor and removed her tunic to see what caused such a thing. 

Then she noticed the growth from the center of her chest. Where her first scar was, the almost surgical mark was replaced with scales the color of soot. The scales had spread from there down to her navel and up to her elbow. At this point, she was glad she demanded privacy. It was a luxury all too rare at the mercenary camps. Another pulse of fire flooded her body as Byleth watched the scales grow further. Layer after layer, turning her pale skin to a hard gray unfeeling stone, stopping right in the middle of her forearms. Admittedly as scared as she should’ve felt, Byleth instead drew her sword and placed it against her left arm. With a single slash, she came to two conclusions. That one, for whatever reason, she was now impervious to weapons wherever these scales are. And two, she needed a new sword. Byleth grieved over the loss of her sword in the bath, childlike laughter once again rang through the mansion. 


End file.
